


Boyfriend Monreal/Reader

by kelp_maxine



Category: Blaseball
Genre: Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Sports, blaseball - Freeform, coffeeshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelp_maxine/pseuds/kelp_maxine
Summary: A fanfic about you, the reader, being asked out on a date by the star batter of the Kansas City Breath Mints, Boyfriend Monreal. I might add more chapters if people want!
Relationships: Boyfriend Monreal/Reader, Boyfriend Monreal/Ren Hunter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Boyfriend Monreal/Reader

Today is your first day at the new place. It’s nice, a refreshing change from the long commute and the few shifts at your old bakery. The owner, Eizabeth Guerra, has recently begun expanding her business, and your boss thought the new coffee shop would be a good fit for you. It’s in a good location, very close to the open meadow on the outskirts of town where the Kansas City Breath Mints play their games. Eizabeth is of course, one of the team's best batter’s when she isn't running her company, and so the location was a natural choice. Because of this proximity, you’re aware that you’ll likely have to serve a player every now and again. But fan’s meet players all the time. It won’t be a big deal if it ever happens to you. You’re not sweating it. Instead, you’re focusing pretty heavily on opening the shop. It’s still early, so early that you have yet to swipe all the sleep from your eyes. You enjoy being alone in the shop though, and the steady buzzing of the machines score your actions with a pleasant, if not stoic hum. The first cup you make comes out golden brown and beautiful, a testament to both your prowess at the helm of these machines, as well as Guerra’s economical business choices. These are cheap models, but somehow they produce the richest and fullest brew out of anything you had used before. You are in the middle of inspecting the filters for the source of this quality when the bell above the door chimes and your first customer walks in.

It takes you a moment to register who it is. You’ve seen them on the TV of course, and all over town on billboards and such. Once, back when the Breath Mints still played in the Freshdome, you had gone to see a game with your friends and began blushing something fierce when they stepped up to bat. But seeing them in person, so close, in such a personal situation, this is new. It takes your brain a minute to catch up to the fact that Boyfriend Monreal, star batter of the Breath Mints, is standing in front of you.

“You alright there?” They ask politely, snapping you out of your haze. Their voice is smooth and soft, moving through the air with a solid texture, like the green velvet of a pool table being absently stroked by a wayward finger, or like the first embers of a flame igniting in the midst of a cold and unforgiving wild. It is a good voice, and it makes the inside of your chest clench with tension.

“Buddy?” They ask again, waving their hands in front of your face. At this point you snap back to reality, a meek smile crossing over your face in apology. “Right, sorry. Still early in the morning.” You say, your voice tripping over itself. You had known they were gorgeous, impossibly gorgeous, but now you are faced with the grim truth of it, with no abstractions to diminish their beauty. It is difficult to push past.

“Haha! I feel that. Mornings, am I right?” They prod, trying to liven the mood.

You let out a small chuckle, charmed by the attempt. 

“Yeah, who needs em?” You offer.

“Nobody! The sun should blaze eternal in the hallowed sky.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

Boyfriend lets out a small smile here, their lips creasing up to reveal pure white and very sharp canines. That feeling in your chest tightens. 

“I like the new shop by the way,” they say. “Eizabeth sure knows how to throw together a grub house.”

“Yeah, she’s a good boss. I used to work downtown at one of her bakeries. I didn’t see her that often, but she always struck me as nice enough. The pay is a little better here, which is nice, and I’ve always been a coffee person.”

“Your passion for your work is palpable, I feel obligated to commend it.”

“Oh, well, thanks, Boyfriend.” 

You blush as you say their name. It’s a revelation that you Know Who They Are. Your cheeks flash red like fuck shit did i say that what if they think i’m lame what if they are weirded out what if--

Boyfriend places a hand on their hip and cocks their posture to the side. 

“You’re a fan, eh?

Your cheeks are basically aflame at this point.

“Well, yeah. I mean, who isn’t?” You offer, letting out a nervous laugh.

Boyfriend flashes you another smile, and for a moment, you meet what seems to be the gaze of a dozen eyes, all flashing out for a brief moment beneath the shade of their baseball cap. 

“I’m just messing with you. You’re wearing a Whit Steakknife jersey, I could tell you were a fan when I walked it.”

Oh, right, you realize. You must have just thrown this thing on.

“I’ll be sure to tell Whit he’s got a fan. It won’t be good for his ego, but I can’t help myself.”

This makes you chuckle. A memory of Whit flipping off the catcher as he slides in for a run flashes through your brain. 

“Sounds like a plan.” You say. After a brief and sort of awkward pause, you ask, “So, can I get you anything?”

Boyfriend leans onto the counter, their arms crossed over themselves on the faux-marble. 

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not really for me. But here’s a fun fact: I can’t get enough of the grounds.”

“Oh.”

“They’re delicious.”

“I suppose if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I am. I’ve been told it’s a bit of an obscure taste, but it’s one that I have nonetheless acquired.” They lick the corners of their lips. “I can’t help but notice that coffee grounds aren’t on your menu, so I seem to be forced into bartering with the lovely barista in front of me for a trade. One in which I may depart with a bag of my eclectic, and too-often discarded goods.”

Did Boyfriend just call you lovely? You are... taken aback.

“I mean, I made myself a cup earlier. The grounds are still in the machines. I can just… give them to you?”

Boyfriend’s smile deepens.

“It seems we are of a like mind, charming barista. I find your offer amicable.”

You gulp down something that was rising in your throat. As you turn around to pull the grounds from the machine, you can feel Boyfriend’s gaze tracing across your back. By the time you’ve slopped the grounds into a to-go bag, the tension inside of you is so tight you feel like you are going to explode.

Boyfriend is inspecting a bottled lemonade when you turn around. 

“What’s this?” They ask you.

“That’s uh, that’s lemonade.”

“What’s in it?

“Lemons, water, and sugar, mostly. Maybe some preservatives.”

They huff a small sigh of approval, and then place it onto the counter. “That should suffice. Do you accept cards?”

You nod, taking their card and swiping it through the register. The machine prints the receipt automatically, the tip of it spilling up from the bowels of the machinery, wet with ink. You swallow down some nerves. 

Boyfriend adjusts their weight from both of their feet to just one. They are still leaning against the counter, their smile boring a hole in your heart. “Now, hypothetically,” they begin, “if I want to see you again, would I be able to find you here next week?”

You nearly trip over the rug. Static is racing all across your body, through your bones and your blood and your hungering flesh. Boyfriend is looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh, yes. I’m going to be working mornings here most days. I’ll be here tomorrow, actually.”

Boyfriend bites their tongue. 

“Unfortunately, I am going to be busy tomorrow. I’ve got a shindig I simply must attend with Ren Hunter, from the Shoe Thieves. But can I pencil you in for next week, here, at this time?”

You gulp. You had heard rumors that Boyfriend had been seeing Ren. You feel jealous, not of their relationship, but merely of their date’s proximity to now. You don’t want Boyfriend to leave. But simultaneously, you are a little glad for the reprieve. It will give you time to prepare.

“Yeah.” You manage. “It’s uh--it’s a date?”

Boyfriend flashes you a smile.

“It’s a date. And oh, and before I depart, may I ask your name?”

“Sure.” You say. “It’s y/n.”

“A lovely name. And with such a charming human attached to it! I look forward to our meeting next week, y/n. May the god’s smile down on you, and may your coffee serving be lucrative.”

You chuckle an earnest chuckle, because they are sweet and funny and strange. “Yeah. Thanks, Boyfriend. And good luck at this week's game! Hit a home run for me.” 

“Will do.” They say, their many eyes flashing into existence and then all winking, simultaneously. 

They are gone as suddenly as they arrived, their muscular form slipping through the glass doors and then disappearing behind the tall grass. Your head is reeling. Had Boyfriend Monreal, star batter of the Kansas City Breath Mints just asked you out onto a date? It’s difficult to process. It’s no secret that Boyfriend is eternally engaged in a polyamorous relationship with every single consenting Breath Mints fan, but this was something different. This was… personal, in a way that it hadn’t been before, in a way that never even seemed possible to you before it happened. 

One week, they said. Plenty of time to prepare. You’ll have to make it count. 


End file.
